


The Story of William

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Drarry Dump [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:40:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU spin on Vampire!Draco</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

Despite the failures of my youth I was supposed to prevail, I was supposed to be more.  How is it possible or fair that I have been reduced to a pile of something that never was?  I know I am a hopeless arsehole, but..really?  Is it really all going to end like this? Where did I go wrong and more importantly, is it too late to make it right?

My name is Draco Malfoy, and even if I am dying, I have something to say.

I will be heard..

**_Sometime before_ **

It is no small secret that I enjoy playing with fire.  I am that child that instantly reaches for something the moment they are scolded for touching it. He is always inside of me; I don’t think I will ever fully grow up.  My life has been a blur; a tiny imprint on the map of my life.  When I was a child I was given every opportunity, everyone knew my name and the term ‘no’ was not something I often heard.  When I was a boy I saw life through the eyes of my father, his views were my own and although I would never admit it at the time, I was too scared to question anything.  When I was a young man I was on the losing side of a war that very nearly killed me. I stood by my family and in the end I paid for my choices. 

My map has not always been easy to read.

After the war came Azkaban.  And after Azkaban came the trials.  And after the trials came the haze.  How do you realize what you have or what you should be thankful for when you feel nothing at all?  I’ve never made a habit of giving a toss what people think, but there is one person whose opinion does happen to mean something to me.  And when the only thing left in her eyes is disappointment, there is nothing left at all.

When I was one again a free man I took some time for me.  My mother explained it away as a  _sabbatical_ but let’s be honest, it was more like a bender.  I disappeared into the heart of Europe, seeking nothing more than anonymity and anything that assisted in the act of forgetting.  I would like to say that I am not proud of what I did during those months, but I rarely regret anything I do; there is simply no point in putting effort in regretting things that cannot be changed.  It was sex and it was drugs and it was alcohol and it was numb.  Some days I didn’t even know my own name, and for someone like me, that is quite a feat.    So many people passed through my peripheral that it was impossible to keep track.  Muggles, wizards,  _others,_  I hardly cared.

Then one fateful night everything changed, and looking back, perhaps I might harbor the tiniest shred of regret..

I don’t remember his name.  In my head I tell myself it was William, but I can’t be certain, even now.  He fed me what I needed and whispered hushed promises in my ear.  I could feel myself bending to his every will and it was surreal to be on that side of things.  I am always the one in control, but not this time.  And I didn’t actually mind one bit..

His fingers were like ice but I scarcely noticed, I was so wrapped up in him and the moment and the way he was touching me that I knew nothing but that instant.  He was my distraction, more so than anything I’d managed to get my pureblood hands on up to this point in my life.  He was decadent and lust and hope and sin and promise.  Time meant nothing when I was with him,  _I_  meant nothing when I was with him, and that was the biggest allure of them all, I think.

It didn’t last long; one night is still confined by the restraints of time no matter how hard you try and deny it.  He played with me like a kitten with a ball of yarn; batting me where he chose one moment, pouncing on me the next.  I had no idea what I was up against; I thought I was fucking invincible, I suppose in a way, now I am.

When he left I was almost gone away, I felt the fleeting sensation of knocking on deaths door; much like I had when I was merely sixteen years old.   There was blood, so much blood. Was it mine? Was it his? I couldn’t be sure, couldn’t find the concentration in me to care.  I thought briefly of my mother, what would she say to my father? What would keep her grounded in the manor alone if I were gone?  I didn’t want to die; it’s never been about that.  I simply wanted a reason to live.  I think I might have told him so, a whispered mumble into the darkness of the night that surrounded us.   His laugh was sharp enough to break through the fog I was trapped beneath, I tried to follow the sound but it seemed to surround me. He called me foolish, I didn’t even hear him.    My eyelids slid closed, they felt hot against my eyes.  I asked him to tell my mother I was sorry, he laughed again. I think he was standing over me, or sitting on my chest, I can’t be certain, even now.   He was taking pleasure in watching me die; somehow I recognized this and wanted to laugh at the sheer irony of it.  I thanked him as my head lolled to the side; I was blind both to sight and the pain.  There was a press of lips against my own, at least I think it was lips.

And then there was nothing..

Nothing at all..

When I woke next the sun was gone and I was lying in a pool of congealed blood. Was it mine?   Everything hurt and I was alone. 

This is everything I’ve been searching for all along, I have no regrets. 

No regrets.

 


	2. Beyond

**Somewhere in the middle**

There was a point in my life where I was utterly lost. I am not talking about the sabbatical, this was after that. After the sex and after the haze of alcohol and drugs; no, this was after that.  It started with a kiss and ended with my death.

This is the story of that time..

I was disgusted. I was dirty. I have felt the sting of filth clinging to me before, but this was different. Azkaban had never been like this.  I was literally sick from the feeling.. At least I thought it was from the dirt.  I trudged through the sleeping city towards my hotel, not trusting myself to apparate in my current condition.  The doorman gave me the oddest of looks when he held the door open for me; I merely scowled at him and found my way up to my suite.  I wanted to drop on the bed, I felt as if I could sleep for three days; I opted for the shower instead.  I was moving like I was in a thick fog, or perhaps water. I stripped off my suit and undergarments; I couldn’t even mourn the death of one of my precious suits. 

I can’t tell you how long I stood under the running water in that shower, it seemed like hours passed.  The water had long since turned cool and I was shivering when I finally twisted off the taps.  I stepped from the shower, wrapping myself in a robe and abandoning the bathroom without as much as a single glance at my hair.

I was definitely having an off day..

I rang the front desk for room service, some coffee and some soup; anything that might ward off this chill that had seemed to take residence in my body.   I haven’t wanted to be ‘just Draco’ in a long time, but I wanted it now. Just let me be me again..

When I was bent over the sink vomiting, I knew something was not right; more so than just a night of over indulgence. My muscles ached and my head throbbed and as I washed my hands in the sink I stared at my own reflection in the mirror and wondered what was happening.

It was then that I saw it, the tiny blemish at the base of my throat; two tiny red dots that made me question everything.

How could I have let this happen to me? I’m Draco Malfoy, survivor.  Everything I’ve been telling myself for all of these years meant nothing now. 

..What would my mother say?


	3. Defeat

It’s been three days.

In three days I have failed to come to terms with what has happened to me.  In three days I have not left this hotel suite.  In three days I tried and failed to eat just about everything room service has to offer.  In three days I have managed to finally become the monster I have always seen myself as.

It has taken me three days to realize I am dead.

The pain is gone now; I’ve taken so many showers I’ve lost count. I think I am trying to wash away this nightmare, hoping that if I use enough soap or scrub hard enough that it will come off.

I just want to wake up.

I’ve visited every possible emotional range the human brain can produce in this short span of time. 

I tried grief. Weeping in the corner of your room only lasts so long.  I gave up crying a long time ago, I still find it near impossible, even now.

I tried anger.  When there is nothing left around you that is breakable, where do you turn? 

I tried despair.  I wrote an owl to my mother, telling her how sorry I was that I had failed her. My father was never getting out of prison and now she would be alone. This is all my fault.  I am selfish.

I tried defiance. Or at least I  _wanted_  to.  I really just wanted to harm myself, to defy everything I’ve ever known about this affliction; but I couldn’t.  Maybe that coward I once was still does exist after all..

Now I am sitting on the edge of the bed, freshly showered and properly dressed.  My room has been sorted and I am preparing to go home.  I am weak.  Blinded by a need that I can’t bear to face.  My mother is here, I knew she would come. Damn despair.    She’s talking slowly, calmly, as she always manages, regardless of the situation.  She’s taking me home, back to the manor, and I know that I have no choice and that it is for the best but I really don’t want to go.  What will become of me? Will I be locked away in the dungeon like an animal?  My body is numb, in more ways than one.

This is the second time in my life that I’ve wished death.  The irony of my current situation should make me laugh, I am not laughing..

I don’t know what I did to deserve a mother like the one I have, her love knows no bounds, and not even death can stop her.  Sometimes I simply stare at her in awe, not quite certain that she is even real.  I have been at the manor for nearly a fortnight now.  I still have not accepted my fate, but it’s getting easier to cope.  She brings me goblets herself, standing over my bed, watching me carefully with that look in her eye that only mothers seem able to possess. I don’t ask where the goblets come from, I can’t bear it, but I drink it because I can’t stop myself. Today she’s informed me that a healer will be visiting from St. Mungos and my eyes go wide with panic. I’ve seen no one but her and Dipsy since my return, I’m not sure I want to be faced with the outside world ever again.  What will they say? Will I be able to see it? The smug satisfaction behind their eyes that Draco Malfoy has finally gotten what he deserves?  I don’t want to care, I’ve made a fucking career out of not bothering with what other people think, but I can’t stop it from being there. The worry lingers and I don’t know what to do.  I ask her if we can reschedule, I already know her answer.  I know she is simply doing what she must, I know what it is like for me, I can’t imagine what it must be like in her shoes.  I sigh quietly in defeat and accept my fate, waiting for a healer to tell you you’re fucked in not so simple terms is more agonizing than actually being dead, I think..

When the healer leaves I make a decision.  I tell myself that I am still Draco Malfoy and that I _will_  remain.  I brush away the self pity and the indifference.  I drag my sorry arse out of bed and get dressed.  I kiss my mother on the cheek and ignore the overwhelming urge that dances at the very edge of my senses when she is near.  I leave the manor for the first time since I arrived, she doesn’t stop me; doesn’t even try.  She merely stands there, a small smile curving her crimson lips that doesn’t quite erase the sadness in her eyes. 

If fate has chosen to deal me this card, then the blood will be on fates hands..

I am Draco Malfoy and I am dead, but I will not be defeated..

 


	4. Live and learn

I know it will sound utterly ridiculous, but that first night, walking out of the manor, I had not felt so alive in a very long time. Ironic that it took death to bring that feeling back, wouldn’t you agree?

I had not a destination in mind and for a long while I simply enjoyed the night. I crept through the sleepy city, content with seeing what the darkness had to offer from a new perspective.  It wasn’t until I drew closer to the part of the city that rarely sleeps that my bliss started to dissolve around the edges. 

I was drawn into a pub, sufficiently packed with bodies. The music was loud and the liquor was free flowing. Every single one of them smelled like heaven and it took me a moment before I was even able to move between them.  It didn’t take long, I might be lacking life, but I’m still Draco Malfoy.  A lithe female with hair the color of espresso. I could feel her warmth scorching me everywhere her fingertips trailed and I wasn’t exactly sure how this worked or how much longer I could even control myself.  The only knowledge I have is that of fables and books, William didn’t exactly leave behind a user’s guide.

My head was swimming with desire and emotions I didn’t understand but had no trouble yielding to. We were leaving the pub, my arm was around her, had I suggested this? Everything after that moment we stepped over the threshold into the night was a blur of a moment. A permanent mark on the map of my life that I would never forget. No matter how long I lived.

It was in the alley that it happened. She was doing everything she thought I wanted, (and Merlin how I wanted it!) fingertips caressing my arm, breasts pressed up against me, throat left unwittingly exposed for me; inviting me even. 

Her name was Jacqueline, and although I have tried many times before to discount this fact; to tell myself that it isn’t important; I can’t forget. She won’t let me.  I was a clueless fucking wreck by the time I gave into the urge, and she was a limp and bloodied mess when I left her. I hadn’t meant to tear the hole in her throat, nor had I meant to leave her lying in a pool of blood and mess in a dingy downtown alley, but there it is. 

Live and learn.

Later, safe in the manor, the blood long since washed away in the bathe, I realized I was without a doubt, the monster now.

And I fully intend to live up to that potential..

 


	5. Understanding

I call this my period of understanding.  The time when I was coming into myself in an entirely new way.  Everything I know I figured out on my own, everything I am now is because of my inability to simply accept the fate that has been given to me. 

It’s been nearly a year since I met William that night that still seems like only yesterday, that night that would forever change the course of my life. A year of coming to terms with having my life ripped away from me. A year to become accustomed to who and what I am now, and also a year to perfect and alter my very existence through trial and error.  My mother has been a tremendous rock in my life, I am certain that I wouldn’t have managed to survive without her.  She has enlisted everyone from healers to dabblers of dark magic to people like me, anything that might help me understand that I  _am_  capable of a life, even after death.  Some might think that selfish, I simply call it love.

My days now are spent in the manor, doing any number of things on a given day.  In the immediate aftermath of William I thought my life was over, in every sense. I thought I would be forever sentenced to a life lived in the shadows, never seen and forever hidden. 

I was wrong.  Merlin, was I wrong.

Not to make this story sound any less, but I was practically a living human, with the exception of a few tiny details, of course. I held a job and continued to re-build my social standing in our world.  I was reluctant to let anyone know my secret at first, I already had enough eyes on me, I didn’t need more.  Oddly enough, it didn’t seem to change much of anything.  Sure, I still get the nervous looks and hushed whispers when I am amongst the masses, but it’s different. I hate to say that what he did to me helped, but there it is.

Tonight, nearly the one year anniversary of my death, I am to escort mother to a Ministry-sanctioned charity event.  A year ago I would have shunned the idea, now I welcome it.  There are, obviously, precautions someone like me must take when mingling with the living. Can’t have me eating up all the guests like a bad dog, can we?  Calming potions and dulling draughts are my best friends on nights like these, as are the tracking and monitoring charms that are performed on me when I arrive.   That’s right, make me the spectacle, and draw more attention to the pasty Malfoy with the silver glint behind his dull grey eyes. I don’t mind.

In fact, I welcome it.

I lead my mother around the large ball room and smile politely at everyone, perhaps a bit _wider_  for the people who stop for a longer look or an odd stare.  I don’t mind.

I haven’t thought of the name ‘Harry Potter’ in a very long time, but suddenly I am forced to recall everything I loathe about him as my mother and myself are faced with him.  I smile politely, brow quirking just slightly as my gaze moves over him. Time has treated him well, despite the ginger that was fixed to his arm like she had been stuck with a sticking charm. The air shifted slightly around us, catching my attention enough that I was momentarily distracted.  Something was in the air, I could almost  _smell_  it. Somewhere in the current Potter was mumbling something about being sorry about what had happened to me, my shoulder shrugged automatically as my gaze returned to them.  The ginger said nothing, she was simply staring while trying not to stare; I smirked at her, she blushed and looked away, I was satisfied.  There was an itch at the back of my throat, the feeling that something was amiss had returned and I glanced about again, catching the slightest hint of that smell again.  There was something or  _someone_  here that I was missing. Understanding was dancing just beyond my grasp and it annoyed me.  I excused myself from current company, confident that my mother could handle herself for a few minutes.  I let myself out onto the patio, standing at the edge of the railing and staring across the darkened distance.  It was only charmed landscape, I knew this, but I looked anyhow.

I was missing something important, but what?

 


	6. That smell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet spawned a roleplay that never really got to finish telling this particular story. I guess we'll never know. ;)

“ _Your mother is ripping the room apart, you should probably get back to her.”_

I smirked at the voice behind me, lingering, not too close, and not terribly far either. 

“How can you tell?”

I ask, blond brow arching sharply as I stare out at the illusionary night.

_“Her eyes give it away.”_

“Do they?” 

I ask, brow disappearing just a bit further beyond my fringe.

_“Absolutely. I’ve seen that look too many times not to recognize it.”_

“Is that so?

I say, feigning innocence, despite the look on my face that he couldn’t see.  I let him stare at my back, I could feel the weight of his stare on me, and it made me smirk smugly.  It was his thing.

“My mother can take care of herself.”

I add, the corner of my mouth twitching with a smirk.  He’s stepping up beside me, staring contemplatively at the faux landscape like me. I wonder what he’s playing at, why he’s suddenly so keen on being in my company. I haven’t seen him in three years, why now?

“What do you want, Potter?”

I ask, turning to gaze at him directly. He seems to take a moment and I can tell he’s slightly uncomfortable under my watchful stare.

_“Just to say I’m sorry, you know, for what’s..I mean..Never mind.”_

“Yes, nevermind.”

I parrot, eyes narrowing slightly as I watch him, not missing the dry swallow or the shifty eyed glances.  I made him nervous, which was a natural reaction I suppose; I made most people nervous.

“Well, I should probably get back.”

I offer him a nod, brow quirking at his seemingly odd fidgeting before moving away from him and retracing my steps back towards the ball room.  Something caught my senses and I took pause, inhaling deeply. 

There it was again, that smell.

 


End file.
